Page 13

CHAPTER TWELVE

September 15, 1996

Sunday afternoon

I t wasn’t hard leaving the office, Claudia was deep into a call, “Don’t you have any family? Can’t you ask your mother for the money? Your dad? You have a brother? You have friends, don’t you? You really need to pay this bill. The doctor saved your life, and you owe—I see. I see. Well, I’m sure he did his best by you. And medical school isn’t free, you know.”

Once the door was shut behind us, I asked Cass, “Do you know how all of that works?”

“I already told you.”

“Tell me again.”

“There’s these companies that buy debt from department stores and hospitals and places. Like, people can’t pay and they don’t feel like making them pay. So these other companies buy up lots of that bad debt. Pennies on the dollar. Then Mr. Cray buys it from them for a tiny bit more than they paid. He only buys debt in Michigan in case he needs to go to court. Mostly they threaten people a bunch of times until they cough up some money, so he doesn’t go to court a lot.”

“Sweet,” I said sarcastically.

By the time he was done, we were climbing into his car.

“How long have you worked there?”

“Since I was fifteen.”

“That’s young.”

“It’s not hard.”

Yeah, screwing over poor people never is.

He unlocked the anti-theft bar and took it off the steering wheel, turned the key and pressed the button that put the car in reverse. We were on our way.

Carla and Rose Amato were both still single. They lived together in a two-story, white clapboard house just outside the Eastern Market area. The neighborhood had seen better times, but their house was well-kept. Neat and clean.

One of them answered the door, I wasn’t sure which. She was just passed forty, had coal black hair that might have been dyed, very pale skin and eyes like a cornered cat. She wore a gray pants suit with a pale peach blouse underneath, and smelled of three or four mismatched beauty products. She’d obviously just come from church.

“Hey Carla,” the boy said, standing slightly behind me.

“Well, hello Cassidy. What are you doing here?”

“I want to find out what happened to my dad.”

“We have no idea. If we did we’d have said so by now.”

“You might be able to set us in the right direction,” I said. “If we could come in, just for a few minutes.”

“And you are?”

“I’m a private detective. I’m not charging Cass. I’m doing this pro bono.” Not what he’d told his aunt, but whatever.

“Isn’t that big of you. Do you have a card?”

“In my other jeans.”

And then her sister was behind her. “Carla, what’s happening?”

Rose looked younger than her sister, had dark brown hair and eyes to match. Her skin was every bit as pale as Carla’s.

“They want to talk about Dominick.”

“All right. Carla, move over so they can get in. There’s no reason to be unfriendly. We don’t have anything to hide. Do we?”

The women stepped aside and we were immediately in a small living room with a couple of reclining chairs and an old gray sofa. Beyond the living room was an open dining room with a nice wooden table and six chairs.

“There’s coffee,” Rose said. “We always have coffee after church.” Then she scooted out of the room.

We stood uncomfortably, until Carla finally said, “Well, sit down then.” She gestured toward the dining room table. As I sat at one end of the table, Carla sat at the other while saying, “I don’t know what you think you’re going to find out. I can’t say we knew Dominick all that well. He wasn’t popular with our family.”

“And why was that?”

“Well, he was a Mick for one thing. That’s what my grandfather would have said. It’s not a term I use often.”

“He didn’t like the Irish?”

“Hated them. No, no one was happy when Dominick and Joanne got married. She could have done worse, of course. My family hates coloreds and wetbacks more than Micks. A lot of girls back then, well… not that it would have mattered.”

“Was that the only thing wrong with Dominick?”

“Joanne didn’t help things. She was always complaining about him. He wasn’t ambitious enough or smart enough or good-looking enough or basically anything enough.”

“What did you think?”

“I thought Joanne was a brat. Her expectations weren’t exactly in line with reality. I’m sorry Cass, but that’s what I thought.”

The boy shrugged. I suspected it was still what she thought.

“What can you tell me about Joanne’s relationship with your brother Luca.”

Then Rose was back. She carried a tray that had a pot of coffee, cups, a bottle of powdered coffee creamer and a small plate of store-bought lemon cookies. As she set the tray down, she said to Cass, “If I’d known you and your friend were coming I’d have baked cookies. These aren’t terrible, but I love to do extra when we have company. Don’t I, Carla?”

“They’re asking about Joanne and Luca.”

Rose stopped for just a moment, took a short breath, then set the cups around. “I brought out creamer. We didn’t know you were coming or I would have bought real cream. It’s an indulgence but worth it. Not that we mind people stopping by. It’s always nice when people stop by. They don’t very often, but still...”

The cups were placed and she began to pour the coffee.

“It’s Eight O’Clock. The coffee, not the time. I get it at Farmer Jack. The one that used to be an A&P. They have the best prices, I think. Help yourself to the coffee creamer. It’s sweet so you don’t need sugar.”

“I take my coffee black,” I said.

Cass reached for the creamer.

“Help yourself to a cookie then,” Rose said. “They’re store brand but really not too bad. I like to bake when people?—”

“You told us, Rose.”

“Oh. Of course, I did.”

She’d poured everyone’s coffee so she sat down. Then she took a cookie. Staring at her coffee she said, “We don’t like talking about Luca.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“That would be talking about Luca,” Carla pointed out.

I knew I was going to have to nibble around the edges before they’d say anything about him. “What about the rest of your family? Tell us about them.”

Carla studied me for a moment. I figured she knew exactly what I was up to, so it was a question of what she really wanted to tell me. After a long moment, she said, “My father always told us family is everything, but it was really just a way to get us to do what he wanted.”

“Luca’s the boy. He gets everything,” Rose said.

“So you’re not on good terms with your mom and dad?”

“We’re not.” The way Carla said it made it sound like it was a point of pride It also sounded final, like she wanted to close the subject.

“We take care of ourselves,” Rose said. “Carla works as an accountant for a company that makes mufflers. I do temporary secretarial work. Now and then.”

I took a sip of coffee, it wasn’t bad, and reached for a cookie. I was hoping that if I remained quiet one of them, Rose in particular, would keep talking.

“Luca was in prison,” Rose said.

Carla added, “Assault.”

“How long was he in prison?”

“Two years.”

There was more to it than that. In most states a first-time simple assault was a misdemeanor that would likely get you a fine, restitution and probation. Two years in prison meant multiple offenses or he caused serious injury to someone. Or both.

“When was that?” I asked.

“Eighty-seven, eighty-eight.”

That meant he’d have been around to get rid of Dom in 1982. I asked, “Joanne and Luca were always close?”

Rose nodded, “My grandmother used to say they’d have gotten married in the old country.”

“Do you think there was something romantic going on between them?”

Rose paled. And then her sister stepped in, “Just kid stuff. Spin the bottle. That kind of thing.”

“How old is Luca?”

“He’s in between Rose and I. Thirty-seven.”

A few years older than Joanne. That would have been significant when they were teenagers. Not so much as adults.

“Is he married?”

“He’s never married,” Carla said. “He lives with our parents.”

I wondered if that had anything to do with why they didn’t. I said, “You’ve heard the rumors, I assume.”

“Which rumor?” Carla asked, her voice going hard. “The rumor that Luca is in The Partnership? Or that he got rid of Dominick for Joanne?”

“Either.”

“Life is never as exciting as people want it to be,” she said, though it really wasn’t an answer. “My father isn’t involved with organized crime. He’d like people to think he is, but he’s not. And our brother is a pretty average guy. As long as he doesn’t get mad at you, he can be really sweet.”

I noticed Rose staring at her coffee as though it might bite her.

“What was it like when Dominick disappeared?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Were people upset, angry… How did everyone react?”

“His family was upset, of course. They never believed he’d just run off.”

“Joanne was happy,” Rose said, looking up from her coffee. “She said her life could start now that he was gone. It was… unseemly.”

“It was,” Carla said dryly.

There was a lot going on in this branch of the Di Stefano family. Particularly for poor Rose. Something that had to do with Luca. The parents had chosen Luca and Carla had chosen her sister. The question was, did it have anything to do with Dominick’s disappearance? I wasn’t sure.

“Would you like more coffee?” Rose asked.

Cass started to say yes, but I said, “No. I think we need to move on. You’ve been helpful. Thank you for talking to us.”

And then I was standing. Cass followed suit and the women walked us out. At the door, Rose pulled Cass close, and said, “You need to visit more. Next time I’ll make cookies.”

“Okay,” he said, unconvincingly.

Once we were in Cass’s car, he asked, “So what are we doing now?”

“Logically we should follow your cousin Luca around to get a feel for what he’s up to. You should have let me rent a car.”

“What’s wrong with my car?”

“It draws attention. If you’re following someone you don’t want to do that.”

“Why not just talk to him?”

“Sure, we can go ask if he killed your dad. He’ll say no, but when he kills one of us we’ll know he lied.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

We sat there quietly for a few minutes. Then I asked, “What about your mother’s sisters? Should we talk to them?”

“My Aunt Josette works at an Italian bakery on McNichols.”

I had no idea where that was, but it sounded like it might be far away. I reached into my jeans pocket and took out the slip of paper Suzie had given me with Dickie Potter’s number on it.

“Find a pay phone.”

“You could ask Carla if we could?—”

“We don’t want them to know what we’re doing, do we?”

“But… Okay.”

It took five minutes to find a pay phone at a gas station. Using my calling card, I called the number and spoke to Dickie’s belligerent wife who told me he was, as usual, at The Corktown Social Club, and that if I saw him I should tell him to ‘go fuck himself.’ Then I called 411 and got the address.

The Corktown Social Club was located in an old wooden building sitting on a corner with its name painted on the side in shamrock green. The second floor had some nice windows and looked like there might be an apartment or two up there. Cass parked across the street, and said, “I’m coming in with you.”

“You’re seventeen.”

“I’m not going to order a drink, okay?”

“You think he’ll tell me more or less with you sitting there?”

He struggled with that. I could tell he was trying to find a way to say we’d learn more, but before he could I got out of the car and ran over to the bar.

Inside, the bar was furnished like a VFW hall with banquet-style chairs and tables. The coolers behind the bar were covered in sports stickers. A TV sat on a shelf in the corner up by the ceiling. A ceiling that was painted over pressed-tin, suggesting a more elegant past.

There were about eight men sitting at the bar, only one of them was under sixty. I walked over to the guy. He was in his early forties, bald and thick around the middle. There was a flush in his cheeks that suggested he spent a lot of time in bars.

“Dickie Potter?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m a friend of Cass Reilly’s.”

“You’re a friend of a kid? What is he now, twelve?”

“Seventeen? He’s asked me to look into his father’s disappearance.”

“So, what? You’re like a private detective for the Hardy boys?”

Rude, but I decided to ignore it. “Yeah, pretty much. Can you tell me about your friendship with Dominick Reilly?”

The bartender came over. I ordered a draft just to be polite and threw a few bucks on the bar. I ordered a refill for Dickie and a shot of whatever he liked. He liked Bushmills.

When he was all set up he said, “Dominick and I went to school together. For most of it. His family moved to Roseville when we were fourteen, fifteen. Somewhere in there. But we kept up, you know. My family moved out that way in nineteen seventy.”

“But you moved back?”

“Kind of. I have a house in Roseville, but I bought one down here a couple years back. Didn’t cost anything. Now I’m fixing it up.”

I couldn’t see how that required sitting in a bar, but I didn’t say anything.

“Are you into cars?” I prompted. “The way Dominick was?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“What do you have?

“I’ve got a sixty-six Dodge Charger. Baby blue. One of the first off the line. 426 Hemi. Four-speed. Everything on it is mint.”

“You ever hear what happened to Dominick’s Barracuda?”

He shook his head. “My guess is it’s in Lake St. Clair or Lake Erie with Dominick sitting in the front seat. At least I hope they’re together.”

“So you don’t think he’d just had enough and ran off?”

“No. He loved Joanne. And the kid. He loved Cass.”

“Who do you think killed him?”

“Joanne was cheating on him. I know that.”

“With her cousin?”

“No. I mean, maybe but… Dominick didn’t know about that. He only knew about the lawyer.”

“The one she works for now?”

“Yeah. I think that’s the one.”

Could that be true? Was that why she wanted to become a paralegal? Was that also why Dominick wanted her to hold off on it?

“Does Suzie know this?”

“I never wanted to tell her. She doesn’t need to know that her brother was just some chump whose wife was cheating on him. And…”

“And what?”

“I was afraid of what she might do.”

“What did you think she might do?”

“When we were kids she was always getting into fights. Beat the crap out of one kid who called me and Dominick faggots cause we were friends. Just made things worse. Having your sister beat-up a bully. It was a good thing when they moved to Roseville.”

“She still like that? Beating people up?”

“Naw, I don’t think so. I’m talking about the sixties. It was a lot more common for people to beat each other up.”

“Yeah, I remember. Did Dominick plan on doing anything about the affair?”

Dickie made a raspberry sound. “He made excuses for her. She was young, she didn’t know better, her family treated her badly and it was their fault she didn’t understand right and wrong.”

“I’ve heard rumors her family is involved in organized crime. Any truth to that?”

“I would say there’s a lot of truth to it.”

“And you know that because?”

“Because everybody knows it. Her father, her uncle, her cousin… they’re all involved. Nothing big, just this and that. Small time stuff. You’re not from around here, are you?”

“I’m not. No.”

“So you think someone in Joanne’s family killed Dominick?”

“I do.”

“Do you have any proof?”

“If I had proof I wouldn’t tell you or anyone else. This is a situation where proof can get you killed. And I think that’s all I’m going to say.”

I put a five on the bar and stood up.

“Thanks. You told me a lot. And by the way, I talked to your wife on the phone. She said you should go fuck yourself.”

He smiled wryly. “Can you believe I married her because she was so sweet?”